


Something Better

by baku_midnight



Series: Hex: Ruin [3]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Omega Dwight Fairfield, Possessive Behavior, Post-Apocalypse, implied Jake Park/Michael Myers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: In the unforgiving wasteland post-Collapse, Dwight is living among a group of fellow captive omegas under the care and at the discretion of powerful alpha Evan MacMillan. Besides the obvious, something bothers Dwight about this arrangement.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper
Series: Hex: Ruin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714105
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	Something Better

**Author's Note:**

> I probably spent too much time on the world-building and not enough on the sex. You let me know.

Evan MacMillan was apparently an alpha of some repute before the Collapse, inheriting wealth of his father’s legacy, and, money being useless as it was, now, worked instead in trading and bartering. Wearing a hideous white mask for some reason—to protect his true identity, perhaps? to hide the hideous mutations of radiation? or maybe just to intimidate his lessers—MacMillan worked hard to secure both status and product for his growing settlement, around which wastelanders built up shops and living spaces. He’d set up relationships with an agricultural centre, built up a sizeable police force, and even attracted a doctor to the Estate, and most of this he’d bought by bartering human product.

Alphas and betas remained in the same numbers pre-Collapse, alphas still making up the majority of the population and betas a close second, with omega numbers at an all-time low. Betas, the likes of which prior could carry offspring in most cases, it seemed could no longer. It was estimated, by those who still cared to keep track, that one in thirty females and one in fifty males were omega, and even less of those were capable of reproduction, due to factors of age and health. It stood to reason that there was much to gain by those who had fertile omegas in their employ.

Settlements grew up (or remained) around water sources, the bases of mountains (which gave shelter from the scalding storms and torrential acid rains), or old city centres. Powerful or persuasive leaders kept small clans of survivors around them, in groups no larger than a hundred, for safety and in observance of the scarcity of supplies. Rarely did wars break out between different groups, instead matters of dispute were most often settled with trade, especially of…well, people. Settlement leaders gathered around them betas as dependable labourers, alphas as militia, and omegas as companions and breeding stock. MacMillan, leader of the Estate, now a settlement of growing repute around the Foglit Basin, which was built around the remains of a massive, upstate manor, was guilty of the same measures, and was steadily gaining power like no one else in the Westcoast Wasteland.

He currently held four omegas in a wing of the mansion that stood atop the sprawling grounds. The house was converted into a series of living spaces, separated from each other by blockades and frightful guardsmen. In the centremost unit he lived, with four omegas kept in a room that was something like a boarding room, with single beds arranged in rows.

The door remained most often unlocked, though the omegas were by no means free to come and go as they chose: a silent guard, a beta nicknamed “Wraith” for his uncanny ability to appear unseen and snipe anyone who dared disturb the omega brood, followed them everywhere outside of their sleeping quarters. MacMillan himself slept only a door away, Dwight, Claudette, Jake and Quentin easily within his reach, though, oddly, the alpha didn’t so much as touch them.

Instead of taking them for himself as a lusty alpha, pushed beyond constraint by the scarcity of viable partners, might, MacMillan used them as items with which to bargain and bolster trade. By the time their heats were due, each was traded off to the highest bidder, or, seemingly, any old alpha freak with something worthwhile to peddle, by the look of some of the alphas who’d previously come to collect MacMillan’s wares. The beast who ended up taking Laurie home with him some months ago was _not_ someone Dwight cared to imagine in his mind’s eye, much less think about _copulating_ with…

Dwight knew what would be expected of him, eventually. He’d known since he was born, even in the time pre-Collapse when he could expect a ready supply of suppressants to calm his hormones, and an (at least superficial) respect from the other designations; that he would be expected to reproduce, and that the expectation was going to remain upon him until his death. The obligation became direr with each year that the population dwindled, but he was nervous about the prospect. He feared the pain, pregnancy and birth being significantly harder for male omegas; but even more, he feared the loss of his autonomy—being treated like an object, his utility put before his personhood. So far, MacMillan treated him more like a servant than a toy to be traded, so, he supposed he counted himself lucky, being de facto “leader” to the burgeoning omegas.

Captured nearly a year ago, sold out by his supposed “friends” to MacMillan in exchange for supplies, Dwight had been taken to the mansion, its security like a bank vault, and very much lacking warmness in the same way. He’d slept fretfully that first night, expecting MacMillan to mount him in the dark and lay his claim, but instead the alpha had let him rest, and then when the morning came slid a black leather collar around his neck, one that locked in place with a simple push mechanism and signified him as MacMillan’s property with the engraved insignia E.M.

“You’ll stay here until I find you a mate,” MacMillan had said, dismissively, and then marched off to whatever other business claimed his attention more than the captive omega in his company.

From then, MacMillan gathered other omegas to him. Claudette was discovered in a small cabin in the Red Woods, eking an existence by eating wild plants and evading alpha capture. Jake was caught sneaking into the settlement to steal. Laurie was sold to MacMillan by a travelling beta in exchange for permanent residence. Quentin was rescued from a gang of alphas who meant to violate him in the middle of the road that connected the Estate to the remains of Crotus Prenn. Each of the omegas was fitted with an engraved black collar and kept like a pet. In exchange for the relative safety of the indoors, they were stripped of their freedom, and remained at the whim of MacMillan, to dispose of howsoever he pleased.

Laurie had been sent on her mysterious way only three months after her arrival, in the middle of the night. A mysterious figure, silhouetted in the dark, such that Dwight couldn’t make anything out about him or her but the alpha smell, came at nearly two in the morning, and led Laurie away. Her collar was removed in sort of a reversal of the ceremony of putting a wedding ring on, and she was gone. MacMillan said he did it in the middle of the night so that they would not be interrupted, and so that no one would try and intercept, take the omega for him or herself. So valuable they were: a commodity, a treasure. Before they were lovers, or even humans, they were _stock_ to barter.

The alpha inspected them often, with the clinical disinterest of a farmer examining his hogs, pressing his hands here and there, checking their skin for hint of fever and smelling them for changes in hormones, or other signals of approaching heat. Dwight sat on the edge of his cot while MacMillan stripped his shirt, and then pressed his large, firm hands into his belly, breast and back, checking for any change in his physiology.

“Still a long ways off, for you,” MacMillan intoned, as if checking the doneness of a roast chicken he’d put in the oven. He took a deep smell of Dwight’s neck and Dwight shivered, setting his jaw, the subtle alpha hormones setting him both at ease and filling him with dread. MacMillan had never made any move, nor threat to mate any of them himself, yet still Dwight shuddered with unsaid fear for himself and his companions, that they might any time be mounted and made to carry alpha seed.

He stepped away from Dwight and moved on to Claudette, barely laying a hand on her before announcing, “but _you_ are nearly there.” The girl whimpered, the sound small and broken in the quiet bedchamber. Even stoic Jake looked concerned during his following examination, knowing that their companion would soon find herself traded off to an alpha not of her choosing, to live as eternal companion.

The four of them sat in nervous silence after the morning’s exam, Quentin going to Claudette’s side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, consoling her. At least they weren’t lost out in the Wastes, prey to whatever deranged alpha came along, right? he explained softly. She’d be fine. Omegas were made to breed; it would all be alright. Jake played with the fraying ends of his sleeves and Dwight just watched in frustration, knowing there was so little he could do. If it were only him, stuck in this infernal prison, then so be it, but having to worry constantly for his friends was misery.

They needed to get out of here, even temporarily. They needed to get their minds off of the inevitability of heat and mating.

Dwight stood and stomped out of their room, spotting in the corner of his eye the Wraith popping into stride a few steps behind him, following like a shadow. Dwight found MacMillan’s door and pounded on it, and while he waited for a reply, squared his shoulders and firmed his jaw. Before the Collapse, Dwight was decidedly _not_ the type to stand up for himself, much less on behalf of others: owing perhaps to his omega designation, he was resigned to keeping his head lowered, to acquiesce to the demands of horrid alphas, all for the sake of avoiding conflict. But the Collapse had brought conflict to everyone, and _changed_ everyone.

MacMillan arrived at the door and opened it half-way, peering down at Dwight through the holes of his atrocious mask. He waited, silent, the hulking, six-and-a-half feet or so of his massive body taking up the entire doorframe, his chest rising slowly with breath.

“We’re going out,” Dwight announced, firmly, glaring, “just to the market. We need open air.”

MacMillan stared another moment, before answering. “Fine. No more than two hours. They’re your responsibility.”

Dwight nodded. They wouldn’t be in much danger, if precautions were taken. He made to return to the omegas when MacMillan stopped him, gruff voice thrumming under his mask.

“I mean it,” he warned, “if anything happens to them, it’s _you_ that will pay for it.”

Dwight swallowed but didn’t turn back. What punishment could MacMillan enact on him that was worse than his current treatment? The master of the house occasionally threatened them, in a vague way that made it sound like he was actually doing them a favour.

“I could turn you out into the woods, to be preyed on by every alpha out there. You could be used as a breeding vessel for an entire village; would you prefer that?” he had said, on occasions when the omegas complained about their captivity.

The four of them went outside, only after the Wraith had fitted them with shackles, attached to each left wrist and with about ten feet of chain between them, so they made a train, like a group of clueless children on a trip from daycare, or a line of mules, secured at the bridle by the farmer. It was a concession that MacMillan would not let them venture outside without making, so they made it, pulling on jackets to protect from the radiation and scarves to protect their lungs if a storm rolled in whilst they were out. Lastly, Dwight sprayed them down with perfume to disguise their scents, although no artificial compound could act more strongly than what nature had provided.

They ventured out the front door, Dwight leading them through the sandy waste. Grey, dead trees stood around tents and lean-tos, constructed under the shadow of the Estate, their inhabitants safe within the brick walls that bordered the property. Just outside of the iron gate, which remained open until sundown, was a market with several stalls, trading different wares such as tools, food, and trinkets. The omega troop snaked between the stalls, Dwight at the front, pausing here and there to look at what had been scavenged from the outside world. Some of the items brought feelings of nostalgia, others curiosity. One seller, who wore a wide hat and had feathery white hair and a grim look, stared Dwight down from where he was seated in front of a collection of guns. The butcher’s stand was run by a tall, broad woman who wore a frightful white mask while she chopped game with a hatchet. Her assistant, a young man with thick arms, watched them curiously.

Dwight saw Jake and Claudette looking excitedly at a compact radio. Jake was turning it around in his hands, delight shining in his eyes as he discovered that it worked. The seller at the booth, a kindly looking alpha with dark brown eyes, gave it over to them for free. Claudette looked overjoyed, and thanked the man hurriedly. Dwight smiled, preferring to see his companions at peace, freed from their perpetual worry and their brooding alpha master. He returned his attention to the butcher’s stall, finding her assistant watching him curiously.

“What’s this? A group of unmated omegas, out on the town, all alone?” came a strange, high voice, and Dwight looked back to see a tall, well-dressed alpha approaching them. He wore a long coat that touched the backs of his knees, and a menacing look proudly upon his lips. Jake stood in front of Claudette, and so the man’s attention fell on him instead. He reached out, swiping a finger across Jake’s chin. His skin, where it appeared from beneath his sleeves, was gnarled and stuck with metal implements, like wires.

“Oh, what I could _do_ with a sweet bunch of omegas such as these,” the alpha announced, and let out an excited giggle, crowding the omegas more closely. The surrounding rabble did nothing, obviously of the primeval mindset that if an omega was out unescorted, they surely deserved whatever came to them. Besides, Dwight recognized this particular alpha to be the settlement’s doctor, as such allowed a special privilege of being allowed to do whatever absurd things he pleased.

“Leave us alone,” Dwight said, striding forward, putting himself between the doctor and his charges. The doctor looked him up and down, a manic grin on his face. “We’re here by leave of MacMillan.”

“Ooh, how lovely you all are,” the doctor chuckled, “how I’d love to see you squirm.” He reached for Dwight’s hand, which he snatched away. With a laugh, he reached instead for Quentin, who stood at Dwight’s shoulder, and pulled away from the touch, protesting meekly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” came a cry from a distance, and Dwight turned to see the butcher’s assistant with his fists cocked.

“David!” the butcher barked in warning, telling him not to get involved, and the man stood down. A few other alphas and betas hovered around the omegas, who were now all stood in a clump like nervous birds. They seemed to be debating whether or not to get involved, and Dwight could only examine their faces in disgust and terror. Why wasn’t anyone helping them? It was shameful.

“MacMillan wouldn’t approve if he found out what you’re threatening to do,” Dwight warned, “you wouldn’t want to be kicked out, forced to make your way in the Wastes, would you?”

The doctor grinned, his expression turning from delighted to deadly. “I’m not afraid of that boy. By the time he’s caught me, I’ll have gotten what I want—” He reached out for Quentin again before, quick as lightning, his hand was torn away by the looming shape of the Wraith. The spectre had appeared from the air itself, tackling the doctor to the ground. While they skirmished in the centre of the market, Dwight took the omegas and ran, back through the gate, up the drive, and into the mansion.

When MacMillan found out what happened, he didn’t say a word, and instead merely watched the omegas cower and recover from the terror of their venture out of doors. Though his expression was unreadable beneath his hideous mask, Dwight had a distinct sense he was gloating.

“You’re lucky,” MacMillan said, catching Dwight in the hall on his way from the bath, after the omega had finished washing the grime of the market from his skin. “If something had happened to them to diminish their value, I would’ve taken the difference out of _your_ body.”

Dwight just glared at him and slammed the bed chamber door behind him.

Within days, an alpha was found for Claudette. Her heat was approaching; by her own estimate it would be on her within the week, at which time she’d be sent off with her chosen mate. Her skin was flushed and warm, and her body produced slick more readily, causing her to need to change her bottoms more often. And besides, the smell of her was obvious: it made Dwight feel calm, but heavy, to face the scent of her, the smell like lilac and vanilla, soothing, making him soft, readying him to the prospect of being mated. Claudette was less soothed, however; in fact she seemed terrified—weeping often and cowering on her bed.

The alpha chosen for her was the master of the local Cold Wind Farm, and his alliance with MacMillan would assure a supply of food for the Estate. The alpha was also, however, a deformed, horrific creature, with a sloping gait, crooked spine and a countenance to frighten even the most hardened traveller of the wastes.

Dwight watched through the doorway one night as MacMillan reassured Claudette, the omega seated on his knee in his bedroom, weeping quietly into a kerchief.

“He’s…hideous,” Claudette moaned, sniffling into her sleeve. MacMillan’s voice was softer than Dwight had ever heard it as he stroked the girl’s back.

“Only on the outside,” he explained, “on the inside, he is kinder than you know, I promise. He can’t help the form he was born into.” He rocked Claudette gently in his lap. “He will be a fine alpha for you. He only wants a child, one that he can love and nourish the way his parents did not do for him. That’s his only wish. Would you keep that from him?”

Dwight turned from the scene and put his back against the wall. What a liar. He was a manipulative mastermind, only interested in his own wealth. To him, people—omegas or any others—were just objects to be used and bartered, and yet he convinced them otherwise. What had he said to gain the unwavering loyalty of the Wraith, or that of any of the guards who patrolled his fair town? Dwight yearned to one day be as powerful with his words as MacMillan was.

A few nights later, while the omegas slept, Claudette was simply taken away under cover of dark. MacMillan woke her, gathered her belongings—only clothes, really, and that quaint and small radio—removed her collar, pet a hand one last time over her hair, and then handed her off to her alpha. Dwight put on his glasses and crept barefooted to the doorway to see the monstrous alpha put a hand gently on her back, and lead her away.

MacMillan caught him spying. Dwight glowered at him.

“You’re a monster,” he hissed.

MacMillan exhaled. “You should be so lucky.”

When MacMillan was out, Dwight travelled the house in relative freedom, though the Wraith’s guard at the front door was impeccable ever since the incident in the market. Still, he rushed to the door when someone knocked, eager for a touch with the outside world, however brief.

At the door was the butcher’s assistant—David, if Dwight recalled. Dwight instantly smelled sweat, animal blood, and alpha pheromones on him, letting him into the foyer and taking from him his delivery. The irradiated meat smelled utterly fresh, as if the thing in the folded newspaper package was kicking just this morning. Dwight placed it aside to take to the stores, considering it a metaphor for something he didn’t want to examine too closely. The young alpha didn’t leave after his work was done, however, and instead hovered in the foyer, shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t suppose that other omega’s around,” David asked, scratching at the back of his neck, “the one with the curly hair and the big eyes?”

Quentin? Dwight raised an eyebrow, but summoned him anyway. He then watched as Quentin came forward nearly aglow as he spotted the new alpha. From a nearby vantage, still feeling that responsibility MacMillan had pushed upon him, Dwight listened as they conversed in hushed tones, David’s hand eventually falling to Quentin’s arm, saying, “I missed you.”

They knew each other?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dwight asked in a whisper, that night, when they were bundled tightly in bed yet wide awake. They spoke in code even in this solitude, eschewing compromising details. It didn’t take a detective; merely a careful sniff of their combined scents showed that David and Quentin were a couple, mated in every way that mattered, even if not consummated or knotted, and certainly not marked—such a thing as obvious as a mating mark on the side of the neck would’ve come up in MacMillan’s daily inspections.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Quentin explained, wiping away tears. “MacMillan will never let me. He’s…not a powerful alpha; he’s just some guy. It doesn’t matter what I want. Not anymore.”

MacMillan. Dwight seethed with rage at the master of the house, his master, the alpha. Dwight wouldn’t see another one of his charges kidnapped in the night, her existence erased, and her scent to slowly dissipate from the room with what remained of her memory. In moments he formulated a plan. Under this cover of dark, he would enact it.

Dwight instructed Quentin to gather his things, meagre collection as it was, and escape through the back door, unguarded for only a few minutes in the deepest night. As for their silent guardian, the Wraith, Dwight dashed out the front door, tailed immediately by the skulking spectre. He ran in circles, looping the familiar courtyard, having thoroughly studied its geography through longing glances out of the windows of the manor home, leading the Wraith as far from Quentin’s path of egress as possible.

While he ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, Dwight imagined in his mind’s eye Quentin reuniting with his mate, finding him in the marketers’ quarters and parting with him quickly from this place, east, towards the Forest, as Dwight had instructed. He imagined the two of them revelling in each other’s scents, sharing warmth during cold, wasteland nights, perched by a campfire. He imagined them consummating their love at the peak of heat, as was only natural. When the Wraith finally caught up with him and dragged him back by the arm, Dwight barely struggled, although he hardly could even if he wanted to, so exhausting was the chase through the moonlight.

MacMillan was furious. It didn’t matter; Quentin was gone, freed. He could rage all he wanted.

With measured, seething anger, and a heavy gait, he dragged Dwight into the bedroom and tossed him upon the bed. Dwight struggled to escape, and MacMillan’s hands shot around his wrists, pinning him back into the mattress. The bedclothes were messy, disturbed by MacMillan’s recent use, and from tearing himself hurriedly from rest in the clamour. The sheets smelled of him, like iron and earth, sweat and leather.

“I suppose you’re pretty proud of yourself? Sending the young one to his doom?” he growled through his mask. Did the bastard sleep in it? Dwight snarled back at him, his face flushed both with effort and the biting cold air of nighttime.

“He’s better off out there than stuck in here with _you_ ,” Dwight spat.

MacMillan climbed up onto the bed with his knees, forcing Dwight’s apart with his own, and in a horrific display of power, pulled Dwight up by the wrists as easily as if he weighed nothing, drawing him to the head of the bed. He ground down, hard, with his pelvis to meet the omega’s, pushing against him in a suggestive manner that made Dwight bite his tongue to hide a sound. He would not give the lumbering alpha the satisfaction of his fear, or his submission.

“I ought to show you what it’s like out there,” MacMillan hissed, the heat of his breath, slightly pungent, leaking through the mouth of the mask, which hovered its jagged smile just above Dwight’s chin. “Teach you what the real world is like for an omega. Sell you off to some deranged, lust-crazed alpha warlord who’ll keep you in a cage and fuck you until you can’t stand up.” As he murmured, he drove forward with his hips, punctuating his threats with a few hard, quick thrusts that made Dwight’s body quake.

“ _Any_ alpha would be better than you,” Dwight hissed, and spat at MacMillan’s mask. He shook Dwight by the arms in reply, squeezing his wrists in a grip of stone.

“Is that so? Maybe I _should_ just have you myself,” he considered, voice deathly quiet, “it’s less than I’m owed, now that you’ve cost me one of my investments. I should make you my own.”

Dwight firmed his jaw. “Why don’t you?”

MacMillan stared at him for another moment, before, to Dwight’s slight surprise, pulling away. He released Dwight and stood up, shaking his head in frustration. As he walked to the door and gestured to it, he didn’t bother hiding the burgeoning arousal between his legs, a sizeable bump underneath his sleeping clothes. Dwight glimpsed it while he lay catching his breath, and quickly looked away.

The alpha gestured with his hand, knocking a knuckle against the door, signalling the Wraith appear. The ghostly figure escorted Dwight back to his room, and while he lay, splayed on top of the covers, overheated, he ignored the sharp tug in the pit of his stomach as he imagined MacMillan above him.

Jake’s heat began to show within a few weeks, and MacMillan seemed to work with extra vigour at finding him a mate. The omega’s skin was flushed nearly constantly, and his smell, rich and tangy-sweet, filled the bedroom. The Wraith kept an even closer eye on the two of them, the glowering, unsettling figure following them about the hall like a shadow, cloying in the corners of the halls.

An interested alpha was found quickly, one to whom MacMillan apparently owed a great deal of debt, the vague nature of which was apparently of vital importance to their continuing security. The alpha was another silent, brooding, white-mask-wearing weirdo who sported a skin-covering jumpsuit, and traveled alone to the Estate from a neighboring settlement called Haddonfield. He looked the pinnacle of wasteland horror, Dwight thought, whilst he watched MacMillan and him conversing one-sidedly on the matters of trade and brokerage.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Dwight asked Jake, as he seemed remarkably underwhelmed by the prospect of his upcoming sale.

“Of Myers?” Jake replied. “Nah. Nothing scary about him, except maybe the fashion sense.”

Dwight swallowed. He found the silent, seven-foot figure who never spoke and who kept a knife constantly strapped to his thigh plenty scary. He wasn’t sure if Jake was just trying to hide his feelings for Dwight’s sake, or if upcoming heat had stripped him of some of his inhibitions. Either way, a slow, simmering fear crept over Dwight at the thought of seeing the last of his companions handed off. Maybe it was the fear of being alone, or maybe it was about facing this world with only _MacMillan_ as companion.

“But what if…” Dwight whispered. He twined his fingers together in his lap, and spoke in a small voice. “What if he doesn’t care about you? What if he just sees you as an object, a means to an end?”

Jake raised an eyebrow at him. His look was, as usual, a mix of sympathetic and sardonic. How he remained so remarkably in control of his emotions was a mystery to Dwight, who felt nothing recently but anger, sorrow, disgust, and worry, oscillating between moods as the light turned overhead.

“Then I’ll kill him and run away, I dunno,” Jake intoned in his deadpan way, shrugging. “I made it on my own, I can do it again.”

Dwight tried to laugh, but it came out broken. He felt hot, feverishly so, his head swimming, his lungs seeming to not take in enough air on each inhale. He rubbed his arms and found the skin hot to the touch, and worry sung between his temples. Jake reached out and touched two fingers to Dwight’s chin, tipping it upwards.

“Looks like you’ll be out of here soon,” he said, examining Dwight’s flushed face and widened pupils, “your heat is starting, too.”

Only two nights later, Jake was taken away. Dwight sat up and watched the ceremony of his collar being unlatched and put aside, his bundle of clothes placed in the hands of his new alpha. It was like a reverse kidnapping, Dwight thought, nearly sick with nerves as he watched the exchange through the door, open only a crack. Jake was gone, though he left with head held high, and a fearlessness Dwight could only hope to emulate when his time came.

The rest of the night seemed to stretch on forever, pulling thin and into strings like tar, the blackest hours turning to grey morning and finally white-blue daylight, Dwight awake through all of it. He lay curled on his side, nibbling at his thumb, wrapping an arm firmly around his belly. It cramped, and his forehead sweat, his cheeks heated and his hands trembled. MacMillan came into the room, and stripped the covers from him in one quick tug.

“I hardly need to examine you,” he said, “your smell is so strong. You could be in heat in a day.”

Dwight sat up. He didn’t look at MacMillan, instead keeping his head lowered and his legs pressed tightly together. Slick trickled down between his legs, wetting the bed below him. Nothing he couldn’t handle, he thought, though having gone nearly thirteen months since his last cycle made this sudden resurgence a little jarring. Not only did he feel physically affected, but his emotions were also running hot and cold and nothing in between.

“You’ll be selling me off, now, like cattle, right?” Dwight huffed, voice acidic. “Less than cattle. Like a piece of _meat_.”

“I should choose the most repulsive bidder,” MacMillan answered, making himself busy by fluffing an adjacent bed, each wave of the sheets through the air blowing pheromones about the room, which to Dwight felt unbearably stuffy. “One who would ruin you thoroughly.”

Dwight took a shuddering breath. Heat was coming over him quickly, making him loopy, making his head swim and his thoughts narrow in scope, like he was watching the world through a tiny keyhole rather than a window. He put a hand between his thighs. The scent of iron and wood smoke, leather and a man’s sweat, clogged his senses, joined with his own confirming omega pheromones, and he smelled lily and candlewax, asphodel and green leaves. He breathed deeply.

“Do it, then,” Dwight said, resigned but defiant. If he was going to be made a pawn for MacMillan’s greed, he would not go quietly. “Damn me, like you damned my friends.”

“I _saved_ them, Dwight,” MacMillan insisted, “from far worse fate. You don’t know what’s in the hearts of alphas, especially now, when the Collapse has allowed the worst parts of them to come out. Those carriers would be tied to breeding racks right now if it weren’t for my selectivity.”

Dwight shook his head. He wouldn’t hear it. “I’m all you have left, now. Your only remaining investment.”

MacMillan’s smirk was nearly audible.

“Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

Dwight’s gaze snapped up to him. The alpha was looming near, and reached out a hand, and gently cupped Dwight’s cheek. His palm was wide and surprisingly soft, cradling Dwight’s head in it, stroking the thumb through the sweaty curls at his temple. Dwight tore away.

“No one…deserves to be under your thumb,” Dwight replied, his body rushing full-speed into heat, now, his heart racing to catch up, exhausting him. He was tired of fighting, of living every day in fear for what would happen to his friends… But what did he have to fear, now?

“Except you, right?” MacMillan replied in his laconic, easy manner. He slid his hands around Dwight’s cheeks, fingertips brushing past the utterly sensitive spots on his neck, just beneath the mandible, making Dwight shiver.

Despite his higher reasoning, Dwight found himself sinking into the touch, leaning into the hands, the scent. MacMillan’s scent surrounded him in thin tendrils, like fabric enrobing him, strip by strip.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be the only one? That’s why you sent the young one away. You would’ve turned them _all_ out sooner, if you could, wouldn’t you have?” MacMillan explained, and Dwight let his eyes drift shut, revelling in the alpha smell: thick as pitch, sweet as wine and coarse as earth. Fingertips that felt like smooth, warmed stone made his skin tingle. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself being ported into the alpha’s arms, lifted from the bed and to the warmth of MacMillan’s broad chest. He curled into the embrace, wrapping his arms around the alpha’s neck and inhaling deeply.

Was this what he wanted? MacMillan carried him to his own bedroom, and the smell of him that lived in there nearly overwhelmed. If he weren’t being carried, he’d fall to his knees, his bones jellified by the strong presence of the man. Had he wanted to get MacMillan alone? Had the desire to send the other omegas away been more selfish than selfless?

“That’s not why I…” Dwight shook his head, “we’re not objects. I’m not…”

MacMillan lowered him to the bed. The bedclothes were in shambles, hastily piled, like a nest. Dwight lay on his back, resting his head in a bundle of sheets and pillows, sinking into the smell. His heat was nearly in full swing, and already he was so affected, he could hardly move from where he was placed, save for rolling his hips in slow circles to alleviate some of the deep ache. Slick trickled from him in hot spurts, soaking his shorts, which held firm around his hips. MacMillan knelt one leg on the bed and reached for him, running his hands up and down his heated sides. At the top he pressed his thumbs into Dwight’s nipples through his shirt, turning in small circles on the tightening nubs.

“Maybe I’ll have you, and _then_ send you off,” MacMillan teased, malicious and yet playful, “a _used_ omega is still worth a kingdom.”

Dwight shook his head. “No. You won’t throw me away.”

MacMillan chuckled. “We’ll see.”

He climbed atop the bed and leant over Dwight, bringing their bodies together, hip to hip, leg to leg. Dwight felt his thighs shift subconsciously open, and reached for the rough, scarred skin of MacMillan’s shoulders. Pheromones were wearing him down, but there was also conscious desire in him. Perhaps for what he’d wanted since the start: to be treated as a lover, not a toy. MacMillan was selfish and humourless, but he was also reasonable, and his hands were gentle. Or maybe Dwight was losing his mind, his intellect addled by bursts of natural anesthetic rushing through his systems.

MacMillan thrust against him, once, twice, a third time making Dwight gasp and bite his lip. He felt the firm pressure of MacMillan’s hardness against his hipbone and desired it elsewhere. His stomach ached, cramped, and felt remarkably empty. He’d been so long without it and uncertain, he’d forgotten the all-reaching _longing_ of heat, and now, it was hitting him with wave after wave of impatient craving to have the alpha inside him. Not just any alpha, no. MacMillan.

Dwight closed his eyes, but in the dark the sensation reigned even stronger, until he was bucking slowly up into MacMillan’s hardness. He sent his hand down and tried to work his shorts off, gasping and reaching up when MacMillan pulled away, Dwight’s fingers trailing after him. The alpha stripped the omega out of his shorts in a few tugs, bringing the slick-wet garment to his nose and inhaling deep of the scent. He pushed Dwight’s white t-shirt up beneath his armpits with another swift movement, baring a pale chest flushed a mottled pink.

Dwight reached past his own arousal and for MacMillan’s but was redirected, MacMillan moving his hand to his own thigh. He moved only slowly, revealing his cock an inch at a time from the waistband, letting the elastic slip and then cling and then slip again over the curves of his hardness. _Big_ , Dwight’s mind uselessly supplied, thinking about how big it might be with knot inflated, nearly twice the width if proportional. MacMillan welcomed fingers around the dark shaft and he gave a few strokes, twisting and tugging at his nipple with the other hand.

Dwight lifted his thighs, dropping them open as far as they would go, letting MacMillan place his ankles behind his hips. Hands secured his wrists again, but this time, without anger, or malice, this time with sure, utter passion. Dwight flinched, biting his lip, and breathed out as MacMillan went in, but there was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the alpha cock sliding inside. He kept eye contact with the blackness of the dreadful mask as MacMillan pushed in slowly, forcing Dwight’s muscles to open around him, ring by ring as he made his way inside. Dwight began to pant, forcing air into his lungs, but he didn’t break from the eyeless gaze, until eventually he let out a gasp as his tightened calves and curled toes softened, and his thighs fell limp around MacMillan’s hips.

“There you are,” the alpha whispered, low voice sensual and soft, like reassuring someone suffering great injury, “that’s it. Now you’ve got what you want, finally.”

Dwight took a deep breath, letting it out as MacMillan pushed deeper in, and soon set a slow, uneager pace. Dwight, on the other hand, felt needy and hurried, the compulsion of his heat making it hard to concentrate on anything else. He groaned, tucking his chin into his shoulder as he lifted his hips with each slow, tantric slide. MacMillan’s cock was big, but his passage was prepared with slick, an excess of which painted his inner thighs in a shiny coat. MacMillan had him slowly and deep, every measured movement letting Dwight feel and grow accustomed to the curve of him, the size and sensuous slide.

“Lovely,” MacMillan mused, “you’re so warm inside. What a deal I could strike offering you as payment…”

“ _No,_ ” Dwight objected firmly, thighs jerking, kicking his heels into MacMillan’s back, drawing him nearer. The movement brought MacMillan’s cock deeper into him, until the still dormant knot was bruising against his rim. “Not…going anywhere,” Dwight said, choking on the words as he was stretched wide open by the advancing shaft.

Dwight breathed, chasing his own pleasure, changing the angle of his legs until he found the right spot and went stock-still, crying out and digging his fingers into his palms. MacMillan’s hands still gripped him firmly, and he remained glued to Dwight on his knees and elbows, determined to watch every little change in him through that dreadful mask. On a whim he lifted up and licked at the crooked teeth, before gasping and falling back, back bowed in an obscene angle.

“Th-there,” he gasped, going stiff, his hardness leaping from his stomach as MacMillan picked up his pace, drumming the spot hard, until Dwight was teary-eyed. It was too much, all at once, yet he couldn’t get enough. His visions faded briefly, and he let out mindless groans and whimpers of pleasure until he reached his peak, drawing breaths deep into his chest, his dick spurting a few dabs onto his belly.

He fell back, boneless, stars flying past his eyes, his muscles loosening to accept the burgeoning knot. MacMillan rutted into him at a more brutal pace, making the bed creak, the alpha offering him a series of murmured compliments, calling him warm, soft, beautiful. Dwight luxuriated in the attention, focused entirely on him; he didn’t have to share it with anyone else. MacMillan’s focus above him was honed, his eyes a faint glimmer through his mask, his mouth panting, heated breath blowing through the mask. Inside his body, Dwight felt the knot begin to swell, and with MacMillan’s frenetic breathing, a second wave of ecstasy, this one made of a sense of belonging, oxytocin flooding his synapses as he shuddered, grunting with each push that drove the knot deeper, until it was fully in, and MacMillan was growling out his orgasm. He let out a harsh exhale as he came, jerking forward with a few sharp thrusts before pulling back and just moving in a slow circle, making sure his knot was fully embedded.

Dwight sighed with pleasure, swiping the back of a hand across his forehead, feeling the tell-tale fever that would soon have him rolling around on the sheets and begging for it like a lust-addled lunatic, but for now, felt pleasant and warming above all. The alpha was locked to him, and Dwight didn’t intend to let him go, at least not for as long as his knot held them together. MacMillan retrieved and stuffed a pillow under Dwight’s lower back and the omega straightened out his legs just enough to be comfortable for the next few minutes, knowing that how long he’d have to stay in this position would be death on his back.

MacMillan perched on his knees, putting another pillow between his bottom and his ankles to salvage his joints. They really should’ve done it in an easier position, Dwight thought absently, touching at his neck. He remembered the collar there, as his fingertips brushed the black leather and simple sliding lock. What had annoyed and outright humiliated him before was now almost a pleasing accessory, if he was to be the only one wearing it. To his surprise, however, MacMillan reached for it, then, and depressed the pin to pop it open and off.

“Why?” Dwight mumbled, watching as the collar that had secured him for so long was taken from his neck, leaving a slight cool relief in its wake.

MacMillan put the collar aside, and to Dwight’s further astonishment, took off his mask in one quick movement. It slid from his bald head and he dropped it on the bed, revealing a face that was, unlike the rumours said, masculine and oddly handsome, in a rough way, marked by a long, ragged scar that split his lip and chin, but with little other deformities the likes of which radiation made. Dwight stared in awe for a moment before reaching up, stroking a finger over the bald chin, feeling the sandpaper-fine roughness of the skin there, and the firmness of the jaw.

“I need room to give you something better,” MacMillan explained, leaning close. His nose nudged the pulse-point of Dwight’s neck, just beneath the ear, and the feather-soft touch made Dwight swoon. Lips landed on the side of his neck, following the muscle down, settling into place at the spot where throat joined shoulder.

Dwight was in disbelief, but then, it felt so natural and affirming to feel the alpha’s teeth sink into his neck that Dwight almost lost his train of thought. MacMillan held his flesh firm, the pressure stinging as the skin bruised and made an ovular mark, rising into a welt a few seconds after it was released. Dwight sighed, pressing a hand against MacMillan’s jaw, drawing him against his neck.

MacMillan’s omega business turned into a rescue operation with Dwight’s insistence, although the former maintained that he had nothing but good intentions in mind for his brood. Visiting Coldwind farm revealed that Claudette and her alpha were in fact warm and bubbly, and with a perfectly healthy baby on the way; and while Jake and Myers could be called anything but “warm”, individually or together, their relationship seemed fair enough. Dwight knew Jake well enough to know that he only blushed when he was truly impressed and didn’t want anyone to know it, and he was pink-cheeked practically all the time at Haddonfield. From now on, they would collect omegas only for the purpose of finding them safe and suitable mates, like the one Dwight had found.


End file.
